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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292415">a spider’s web</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunch_the_munch/pseuds/crunch_the_munch'>crunch_the_munch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drug Addiction, Drug Use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:21:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunch_the_munch/pseuds/crunch_the_munch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>america has a drug problem.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a spider’s web</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>     When it started it was easy. He had a choice. There was a crisis in his nation, a drug crisis. He thinks that’s what must’ve created that horrible itch under his skin. A craving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He just had to know. He had to understand why his Americans would do that to themselves. He guessed that’s how he found himself with a needle to his arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     For him it was quick. There was no gateway drug, no long path of warning signs. Just another person hoping they could find some kind of answers in a needle when they didn’t even know the question they were asking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He thinks this must be a slow kind of death. He’d always pictured it’d be quick when he faded, an explosion. Gone as quickly as it came. But the fire was burning slowly, taking its time to climb the floors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     Make no mistake, he knew he was killing himself. But to him, it was a cat-and-mouse game. He chased after the feeling of being alive that he craved so deeply, but he can’t help but wonder if he's the cat or the mouse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He decides he must be the cat, telling himself that he was the one doing the chasing, that he could always just stop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     But the thing was, he couldn't. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He wonders briefly another day if a spider web would be a better comparison. But then brings the question if he is the fly or the spider.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     Maybe he is the web itself. Holding a poor man captive until his demise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He thinks that if he were the fly he would be able to taste how close freedom was, could hope for someone to come to his rescue and knock the web down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     To be the spider would mean that he had control. But he thinks about how the spider built the cage and wonders again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He decides that maybe he's all three. His body a prison that he can not escape.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He marvels at the romanization his people have created. How could anyone find beauty in this?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He no longer recognizes the man in the mirror. The bruises that ran up and down his arms were a hideous yellow color. He was scared to check the scale because he didn't want to confront the fact that the man staring back at him was a skeleton.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He prays for a chance to slap himself all those months ago, the first time he picked up a needle. He prays that somebody saves him while also praying that everyone forgets him. He hadn’t considered himself a religious man and he wondered who he was praying to. Some elusive savior.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He accepted the fact that he was addicted a long time ago but he couldn't stand the thought of someone else confronting him about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     He has a love-hate relationship with his little game. He thinks he must love the feeling of dying. Why else would he chase it so hard? But he hates who he has become.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     Just another addict in a world that will never understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was shit, i’m sorry. this is my first fic in the fandom so idk. this was intended to be a one-shot but if you’d want more for some reason let me know i guess</p></blockquote></div></div>
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